You stand where the white tile ends.
The midnight shift is where it bends.
Three A.
M. and the air is cold.
A story that is never told.
Rowboat floating on a concrete sea.
Waiting for the ghost of you and me.
Wooden planks on a subway floor.
Waiting for the opening door.
You see the cedar polished brown.
The strangest thing in this gray town.
No water here just iron grit.
You stare at it and then you quit.
Rowboat floating on a concrete sea.
Waiting for the ghost of you and me.
Wooden planks on a subway floor.
Waiting for the opening door.
You smell the grease and burnt roast bean.
The cleanest sight you've ever seen.
It does not drift it does not sway.
Just blocking out the coming day.
The third rail hums a heavy tune.
Beneath a fake and plastic moon.
You want to climb inside the hull.
Before the city makes you dull.
You check your watch you check the time.
The rhythm hits a jagged rhyme.
A ticket stub a crumpled bill.
The wooden vessel standing still.
Rowboat floating on a concrete sea.
Waiting for the ghost of you and me.
Wooden planks on a subway floor.
Waiting for the opening door.
The train arrives with screaming brakes.
The heavy sleeping station wakes.
You step aside to let it pass.
The boat is gone like broken glass.
Rowboat floating on a concrete sea.
Waiting for the ghost of you and me.
Wooden planks on a subway floor.
Waiting for the opening door.
Rowboat on the rail.
Just a wooden veil.
Rowboat on the rail.
